Searching For Solace
by Fivetimesthelove
Summary: She used him to achieve her personal agenda but after her violent death, few realised the depth of his regret.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own NCIS or any of it's wonderful characters. I am not making any money from this story.**

**A/N:- This story is dedicated to the wonderfully gifted Lyn1410g, whose amazing NCIS one-shots inspired my very first attempt at writing anything but shopping lists. **

**Searching for Solace**

Unable to find parking within a block of his intended destination, he ran through the torrential rain and pushed against the heavy door of O'Malley's Bar and Grill. The heat and smoke-filled air were stifling as he removed his coat and shook the excess water from his rain-slicked hair.

Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, he squinted through the smoky haze and spied the familiar dark haired man, sitting alone and dishevelled, hunched over a half empty bottle of whisky.

As the bartender wiped down the far end of the counter, he caught his eye and nodded in silent greeting.

"How long has he been here?"

"Long enough to down half a bottle of my best whisky," the bartender replied. "He wouldn't leave, didn't want to talk, just wanted to be left alone. I figured he'd had a rough day."

'_Rough was an understatement,' _he thought_._

"He wasn't causing any trouble so I left him to it. Oh, I made him hand over his keys," he said placing them on the bar. "I told him that I was closing up and asked him if there was someone I could call for him. He gave me your number."

"Thanks," he replied placing the keys in his pocket. "He owe you anything?"

"Not a cent, he paid his tab in full," the bartender said. "You need a hand with him?"

He looked back at the younger man. His eyes were closed in a vain attempt to shut out the rest of the world. His elbows rested on the table supporting his hands as they cradled his head.

"Thanks, I'll take it from here," he replied.

Taking a clean glass from the bartender he walked to the table at the rear of the bar where the inebriated man sat wallowing in his misery and awash in an alcoholic mist.

"Private party?" he asked.

The younger man, tilted his head and cracked open a bleary eye.

"Be my guest," came the slurred reply.

"Went by your apartment. Thought you might need to talk."

"Right now, I just need to drink."

"So I see, mind if I join you?" he asked.

The younger man waved his hand in invitation and raised his own glass for a refill. Half filling both glasses, he lifted his glass to his lips and sighed as the expensive liquor immediately warmed his chilled body.

"If you just wanted a ride home, you could have called a cab but you asked the bartender call me," he said determined to get the younger man talking. "I'm here, I'm listening. Talk to me."

"Talking won't change anything, she's still dead."

"Yes, she is," he said softly. "No-one blames you, this was not your fault. You couldn't have known this would happen."

"Did I miss something? Should I have seen this coming?" His guilt filled eyes were haunted and his voice thick with self-recrimination.

"None of us saw this coming," he replied, clamping down on his own reeling emotions.

"I was tired of being used. Tired of being at her beck and call. Tired of sneaking around, not telling anyone what was going on." He met the older man's gaze, pleading for understanding. "I wanted to tell you when this whole thing started…get it all out into the open…she wouldn't let me, she wanted it to remain just between us."

He shrugged his shoulders. "I noticed the nervous tension between the two of you and the times you couldn't look me in the eye – I could have asked you straight out, but I didn't. Guess I was waiting for you to come to me."

"You knew?" the younger man asked in surprise. "Right from the start?"

"I suspected," he confirmed. "We've worked together for a while now, you really think I can't tell when something's on your mind? And don't forget, she was once my Probie?"

"I knew something was wrong – I felt it!" he said angrily, throwing back the rest of the whisky and refilling his glass. "But rather than talking to her about it, I took the first opportunity to put as much distance as I could between us. I just didn't want to be involved."

"She was a desperate woman with her own personal agenda and too many secrets," the older man countered. "She could have asked anyone of us for help – she didn't."

"God! I never wanted it to end that way…the blood, the bullets...her death." A combination of grief, guilt and alcohol had driven him to the edge of his self-control and he was barely holding it together.

"Nobody wanted her life to end that way," he said with calm intent. "But when that moment came, it was her choice – not yours, not mine, not anyone else's."

He screwed the lid back on the bottle, stood and helped the unsteady younger man to his feet.

"What say I get you home and you can sleep this off?" he suggested. "I'll bunk on your couch and, in the morning, I'll whip up the famous DiNozzo Defibrillator and we'll talk some more."

"Thanks, Tony," Jimmy murmured softly. As his friend supported him from the bar he allowed the night's final mournful thought. "Rest peacefully, Michelle."

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed my story and the parallels between a Gibbs/Tony/Jenny scene and a Tony/Jimmy/Michelle scene.


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